Grand Theft Vessel
by PurpleMoon3
Summary: Dean just killed the Whore, and things look bleak, so he goes to the bottle.  It just so happens that drunk-Dean is a certified genius.
1. Chapter 1

**Grand Theft Vessel**

**A Supernatural Fanfic, Post '99 Problems'  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the big-wigs of the CW. I'm just borrowing them.**

**GTV: In which a falling angel and a faithless vessel come to an accord...**

* * *

><p>Dean stared hard into the bottled oblivion that waited patiently in his hands. He felt sick, and weak, like there was nothing he could do. Helpless. The Colt didn't work against angels, or least not against Lucifer. Neither would the Knife. Holy Oil could only be used as a stop-gap, a deterrent, like goofer dust did to hellhounds. They were fighting a loosing war where you couldn't even use your own death to flip the enemy the bird. The only thing he had any semblance of choice in was how long it would drag out. All he had to do was say that one damned word, and the earth and all its people would get one super fantastic firework send off as the seas boiled and the land burned.<p>

Sipping from the bottle, Dean bowed his head and hunched in on himself. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as Famine's words echoing in his head. Empty. He was hollow inside. _Just an empty vessel. Dead. Nothing but a container for angel spunk._ That was all he was, and all he had ever been 'destined' to be. Dean Winchester the Hunter was a lie. A fiction and alias. Another fake ID. Maybe John had always known, giving one final order to kill Sam, on some instinctual level since being possessed by that smug prick Micheal; why it always felt like he wasn't measuring up. Why he seemed to fail whenever it really mattered. He was a tool to be used and then cast away. Micheal's sword. A weapon.

_Fucking shit._ Dean took a long pull from his bottle, relishing the burn as it went down to join everything else he'd drunk after storming out of the motel room. He threw a toast to the sky. _Servant of Heaven. That's me_. He was well on his way to becoming stumbling-over-his-own-tongue drunk but it didn't seem to matter all that much. If he did die of liver failure the dicks upstairs would just bring him back. Bastards.

It seemed ridiculous that he, con man extraordinaire Dean Fucking Winchester, couldn't find a way out of the shit fest that had become his life. Apocalypse. Angels on one side and demons on the other with humanity stuck in the middle. Maybe he should say yes? After all, it wasn't like they had any other option. The forces of good, and what a laugh that title was, had stonewalled them but mightily. Demons running amok and not near enough Hunters to play damage control. Lilith had seen to that. "White-eyed bitch." He took another long pull from his bottle, nearly draining it entirely, and stared up at the sky.

The Y word was becoming more and more appealing and maybe, just maybe, if he said it before Sammy he'd at least do one thing right. He, or at least the dick riding him, and was that not a horrible mental image, could kick the devil's ass and prevent him from getting to Sammy and then Sammy could go upstairs and be with his perfect normal dream family and the little dog, too.

Dean cast aside his bottle with a sigh, listened to the slightly muffled shatter as it clashed against the pavement in the lovely little boondocks he'd found, and reached through the window to one of his many cases of beer. He was all out of the hard stuff now, but nothing in the 'verse was going to stop him from getting completely and utterly smashed. "I always wanted a dog. Would have been nice." He grumbled to himself, momentarily jealous of Sam's brief childhood foray into independence.

"Dean." The voice had a recognizable rumble to it, and Dean attempted to focus on the white and tan figure before him. Attempted being the key word. He felt his lips twitch in drunken amusement as he could swear he could see something fuzzy behind the only non-dick of heaven. He chuckled to himself and reached back in his beloved Impala to toss his friend a beer. Maybe they could find another liquor store and drink it?

"Hey, Cas." He took a sip of the sweet sweet ambrosia and swayed a bit. Cas looked so holy under the flickering street light. Glow-y. He also looked a bit concerned, but with Castiel's poker face and Dean's current level of inebriation one could never be sure.

Surprisingly, Castiel opened his can of beer in what resembled a practiced and familiar movement, one handed. His whole body looked infinitely more relaxed as he imbibed the alcohol though his eyes didn't lose that spark of wariness. "Are you well, Dean?"

Was he well? Not really. He was pissed drunk and on his way to utterly wasted. His fingers were starting to get tingly, but he still felt as though he'd had his heart ripped out of his chest, and he was truly familiar with that feeling, so he could say yes. Or he could say the other yes. Get all filled with angel mojo and ride to battle on a charging comet. Let the world burn so the dicks could remake it however they wished with puppies and unicorns and who-the-fuck knew what else.

Sounded like a plan.

"No." While Dean would have preferred to lie like he did with Bobby and Sammy he couldn't do that with Cas, at least not without all brain cells firing, but if he had that he wouldn't be out here drinking with his angel. He handed the other being a fresh beer and stroked the hood of his Baby. "No, I'm not."

Castiel tilted his head in that ridiculous puppy like way, and Dean felt his body shudder with insane laughter. Only a moment ago he'd been mourning his lack of pet while growing up, Sammy didn't count because dogs didn't talk back and ask too many questions for their own good, but here he had an overgrown puppy with wings. He reached out before he really realized what he was doing and placed one hand on Castiel's shoulder while resting his head on the angel's chest. "Dude, don't ever change." His throat constricted and for a moment Dean was afraid he was going to puke all over his friend. But then the moment passed and he rocked back, nearly falling, before Cas gripped his arm and guided him back to lean against the Impala. His Baby. Ever supportive and all things good.

"Would you like to make confession?" Castiel asked and Dean blinked the fuzziness away, while trying to process the question. Perhaps he had passed out during his binge and this was all a dream. It would certainly explain the hazy wings growing out of Cas' back that he had only seen as shadows on a wall before. Figured the only time he could see the damn things was when he couldn't see much of anything. Holy beer goggles?

"What?"

Castiel crunched the can in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder, right through one of the wings, and gave a halting shrug like he was attempting to do something he had only seen done, which was entirely possible. "Confession. I shall serve as witness for your soul if you do not wish to discuss such matters with Sam."

"..." Dean stared in confusion before the angel-speak made it through the cluttered fog of his brain into modern English. Then he scowled. "No. No dude. I don't do the touchy-feely share and care crap."

Castiel did not look very happy, or maybe it was his imagination. Dean pushed off the car and fumbled for the door handle. He should go out and find one of those crazy Mormons so they could get in touch with the heavenly command. He should probably figure out some demands. Keep Sammy safe, heal Bobby, maybe get Jo and Ellen resurrected, and make them let Cas back into the Angel Army.

Dean froze. There was something funny about that thought. Something ridiculously humorous about it. Carefully, he marshaled his alcohol drenched thoughts. He was a Hunter, the need to think clearly was a survival imperative nine times out of ten. He swallowed in reaction to his suddenly dry mouth and turned to stare at Castiel. Blue eyes bore into green as a vague thought bubble up that Dean was certain if he'd been sober would never have occurred to him. It was too ridiculous, too asinine and pie-in-the-sky to really contemplate. But that was what drinking did to the mind, and as anyone could say Dean Winchester had a hard on for pie. He latched onto that thought before it could float away and tied it down as he continued to ponder the idea.

Archangels left their vessels drooling wrecks. He'd seen that, and even if Micheal claimed he would not do so, Dean trusted those pricks as far as he could throw them, which was to say not at all. But he'd also seen Jimmy, Castiel's vessel, who when empty was disillusioned but not comatose. Hell, the guy had enough personality to sneak past Sam and hitch a Bus ride home, and then use knowledge he certainly didn't have pre-possession to try and save his family. More importantly: Dean trusted Cas.

He wondered what it would be like to have the overgrown puppy sharing space in his head. He'd never been possessed. He wondered if it would be the angry pain of a demon or the chained to a comet Jimmy had described. "Castiel." Dean enunciated slowly to make sure no drunken slurring entered his speech. The angel straightened and narrowed his eyes; Dean hadn't addressed him by his full formal name in months. "Could you use me?"

"...I do not understand."

"I don't want Micheal riding around in my meat suit. He is a dick. I know this. I've met him." Dean fought the urge to get another beer. Castiel had no such complications and reached for another, eyes hard and considering. "You aren't."

And the light bulb went on. "Dean. That isn't-"

Dean raised his hand for silence and plowed on. "I've seen you jump bodies. Hell, you turned that little girl into the second coming. I'm a vessel, maybe if I'm already occupied they'll just have to forfeit and try again next millennium."

Castiel was looking upset. "It was in her blood, the Novak bloodline is particularly suited to an angel of my caste as is your's to the archangels-"

"So what? A vessel is a vessel is a vessel. I know we aren't a 100% match but that hasn't stopped Lucifer and isn't he currently tooling around in a lesser vessel? Maybe I'll be a bit more roomy than you're used to but..." No. He was not crying. He was not going to break down and have a pity party in the middle of this. Not until he'd convinced Cas. "Please. Dude. I broke in Hell. You saw what happened to me, if I have to be a vessel I'd rather it be you in the driver's seat."

Dean couldn't even begin to guess what that look on his friends face was. Cas looked softer, somehow, and shiny like someone had been messing around with the filters in photoshop. He leaned forward, nose only inches away from Dean's own and the Winchester had a sudden sense of deja-vu. _You don't think you deserve to be saved._

"Dean. You have to understand, cut off from Heaven my power is much diminished. Even before then I could not stand in battle among Micheal, Raphael, or even Gabriel. I can not defeat my brother." It drove home Castiel's position like a punch to the gut as it was the same damn thing Dean was fighting with. Unlike Dean, Cas had killed several of his family, but to be fair they tried, and momentarily succeeded, in killing him first. But it didn't really matter. Not where Dean was concerned. He reached up, cupped Castiel's face with his hands, and let his soul out. Let the tears fall.

He knew he was worthless. Hell, they all were. But that didn't matter to him. It had never mattered. _We do what we do and we shut up about it._ They were all just broken souls clinging to something, anything, that might be family. And no matter what Castiel said, no matter what the angel thought, there was still something in him. Something bright and powerful. For an instant rage burned through the haze, and Dean felt the same as he had in that green room after Zachariah gave his evil mastermind monologue. The feathered fucks might have stonewalled him, but Dean Winchester would just pull out a fucking sledgehammer.

He made sure Cas couldn't look away. "I don't give a shit."

Suddenly, it felt like a porno, and Dean couldn't help but give a cocky grin and whisper seductively. "I want you in me, Cas. Fill me with your... grace. I want you to take me as yours." There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, the image of a thoroughly trashed warehouse and an unconscious Jimmy, but Dean would fight tooth, nail, and soul to keep his angel.

He wasn't quite expecting the sudden locking of lips, but he nearly came in his jeans as what could only be described as raw power flooded into him, and he was swept away into the flood of Grace and Faith.

_Yes._

Dean's body jerked backward into the open window of the Impala, knocking his head on the metal frame, glowing a brilliant white-gold, as it screamed. His hands opened and closed as if trying to reach for something to hold before the power surged in an uncontrollable flood and and all that was left in the old parking lot was the unconscious body of James Novak.

* * *

><p>AN- I've had this idea for a while. Cleaned it up and posted it, hopefully it'll spawn some Dean!Cas stories...


	2. Chapter 2

**Grand Theft Vessel**

**A Supernatural Fanfic**

**GTV: Wonder Twin Powers- Activate!**

Dean wonders if _this_ is what it feels like to be tossed around by a hurricane. He wonders how many people survive it, and if there's something about being born in Kansas that causes a predisposition to being tornado'd, but at least Dorothy had a fucking house to shield her and super-boy's squeeze had a truck. Dean doesn't have anything, not even his own meat to cover him from the onslaught.. and yet all he can think is that if Sam where here, the geek, he could probably recite statistics, dates, and maybe even case studies.

The thought doesn't last long, ripped up and away as it is by the sheer strength of whatever it is that makes an angel an angel. It isn't just Grace, creation energy, because if it was Anna would never have been able to remember being part of the God Squad. She wouldn't have been able to throw people across the room during her _don't-make-me-he's-mad-at-me_ tantrum in the panic room.

There's _power_, Dean always knew Castiel was powerful so nothing new there, but the Hunter had never gotten the sense of _age_ that soaks him to his core. Castiel is old, thousands of years of experience, and yet Dean somehow knows he is _young_.

It makes him wonder how old Micheal is, how much stronger, right before the hurricane pulls him apart, exposing his soul, and he can't think at all.

* * *

><p>Taking Jimmy as a vessel was nothing like taking Dean. If Castiel had the experience, he would have compared Jimmy to be like slipping on a formally tailed suit. He moved in, pushing everything else aside, including Jimmy, to fill it up. Though the body fit, Castiel's own power had knocked aside James Novak's soul leaving it compact and sectioned off, barely more than terrified whispers of a man who's greatest trial had been whether or not his proposal at work would be accepted.<p>

Claire had been different, yet similar. The young girl hadn't fit as well, not enough time to mature, but when he possessed her body he still pushed her to the side. Angel grace filled veins thick with mourning for the loss of her father, missing for months, and the stubborn willingness to do whatever it took to protect her family.

Dean is something else entirely.

* * *

><p>"I'm an Angel of the Lord."<p>

Flashes of color. A whirlwind of possibilities.

_He put up the Great Wall of Sam between you, and the things you don't remember._

"The electrocution triggered a heart attack. Pretty massive, I'm afraid."

Dean was crafted, Chosen, to be Micheal's vessel. A weapon generations in the making, Dean Winchester had been marked since birth for hardship and trials. Castiel knew this when he went with his garrison to retrieve the Righteous Man, forged into a sword for heaven in the fires of hell, but he hadn't considered... hadn't thought...

"Pit stop to Mount Doom?"

_You think I'm behind this? Please. I'm the Costner to your Houston. I'm here to save your ass._

"Yeah, maybe that, but I don't say things like "feisty little wildcat". And her name wasn't Starla."

Dean had died. Not once. Not twice.

_It's the perfect antidote to that absinthe._

"Well, it's just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We've got flickering lights almost hourly."

_Tell, ah, Raphael to bite me._

Hundreds of times, Dean's soul had shuffled off its mortal coil, and each time it had been put back. Over and over again the process had happened, different fractions of the supernatural world vying for Winchester blood, and things like that leave remnants. Fragments of grace mixed in with echos of Death all clinging to a human soul battered and bruised but unbelievably powerful.

"It's you, chucklehead. You're the Michael sword."

_Why you buying up human souls, anyway?_

And Castiel _got it_, why they took living, inhabited vessels even as the upsurge of power threatened to carry him away. Dean wasn't just a vessel through which Micheal could channel his own God given power. When combined with an angel's grace, Dean's soul _generated_ it. Before, with Jimmy and Claire, their own souls had done the same but on a scale so small he hadn't even noticed. Their souls had been like water wheels on a river of grace.

Dean felt more like a nuclear reactor, and Castiel didn't have the slightest clue on how to handle it. The whole world, worlds, are spread out before him flashing past the window. Pasts, presents, and futures. Castiel has never had so much power at his disposal before.

It is... intimidating, frightening, because... what if he messes up? What is he supposed to do with it all?

He knows from Dean's memories, as fragmented as they currently are, that the sick feeling below his abdomen if what they call a punch to the gut. He's seen the possibilities. He doesn't like them.

* * *

><p>There was cool -comfortingly familiar?- leather at his back. Castiel opened his -Dean's- eyes. Pale white light is streaming in through the window, there's a glare, and a chill in the air. It's cold, but Castiel only notices it a vague way as though he's looking at a display out of the corner of his eyes.<p>

But it sparks of something in his mind, and for a moment Castiel can remember the feel of soft wool on his hands and a slushy expanse of white as breathe fogs in his face. There's two people in the distance, dressed for the weather but not near as layered as he is, arguing playfully.

"It's colder than a witch's tit out here." A gruff, male voice grumbles, sound carried by a stark wind.

The female hisses. "_John!_"

There is a sense of surprised warmth in his chest, of Dean, and Castiel hesitantly closes their eyes and probes carefully into his essence. Dean hadn't been much older than three when that memory took place. He hadn't recalled it since. The snow-day had been replaced by the exciting news: "_Mommy's making you a baby brother!_"

Swallowing, because Jimmy's emotions had always been distant like a firefly's light compared to _this_, Castiel sits up and takes in their surroundings. He had been completely overwhelmed by the power rush when he entered Dean, it had been all he could do not to accidentally blow the little town they had formerly been in off the map. As it was, well, if time was fluid space was like rice-paper, and Cas vaguely recalled breaking a couple of dimensional walls during his admittedly less-than-graceful (Was that a pun?) ascension.

A cursory check told him that, yes, the Impala was okay, and isn't that the important thing?

The cold, serious thrill that curled around the back of his mind assured him it is.

Something tapped against the door, a soft scraping that caused Castiel to wince inwardly. He shifted over to the driver's seat. There was nothing but white as far as he could see, but his other senses, far stronger than they had been in his previous vessels, detected a source of warmth just outside.

He rolled down the window, and looked down.

Big, black eyes stared up at him as a pink tongue flashed out. "Hello, Bear." A thrill of surprised and happy excitement. "Where is your mother?"

The baby bear whuffed, breath coming out in a steam that fogged up the Impala's door, where a set of scratches had been made against the paint. Almost before he knew what he was doing, Cas narrowed his eyes at the scratches and watched as the paint seemed to stretch and cover them up as if they never were.

The bear continued to stare at him, nose twitching.

Castiel reaches out, digs his -their- fingers into the thick white fur of the Polar Bear, and gives a small smile. It won't last, this peace, because he knows he set off all kinds of alarms. The power is pulsing just under his skin, enough to take out a small country or build one, and he didn't exactly cover his tracks. There's a moving mound of white heading in his direction.

He should go.

Sliding back into the driver's seat, Castiel grips the wheel and takes a deep, unneeded breath. If he doesn't manage to do it right, there's a 45% chance he'll end up half buried in rock, floating at sea, or possibly in space.

With the Impala.

Subconciously, he pats the dashboard lovingly and turns the key. Do or do not. There is no try.

The two polar bears look at the indention four wheels had made in the snow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Grand Theft Vessel**

**A Supernatural FanFiction**

**A/N- Seven Seas of Rhye goes to Queen. Neal Schon is a guitarist for Journey. For those who are like Jimmy: AFK = Away From Keyboard. IM = Instant Message. MMORPG = Massive, multiplayer, online role play game.**

**Also, I made a pic to go with this story. There's a link to my deviantart through my profile page if you want to see it.  
><strong>

**GTV: What's a little B&E Between Friends?**

* * *

><p>Five days, almost a week since Sam heard the squeal of tires announcing Dean's departure, and he hadn't slept since. Well, that wasn't completely true statement. He had a short nap the second night when exhaustion won out over worry and caffeine tablets, and that had ended when stalk-you-in-sleep-Lucifer showed up.<p>

Five days, and Sam felt like he was running on fumes and momentum.

Dean was gone. His big brother, who happened to be Heaven's most wanted, was missing and the last sign they had of the self-sacraficing idiot was a liquor store clerk's hazy recollection. Dean could be _anywhere_.

"From the hills of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli..." Sam hummed subconsciously as he tapped away at his laptop in the motel room. For all he knew, Dean could be trapped in Heaven while Zach and the Evangelists did a reenactment of Dean's time Downstairs.

His fingers froze over the keys, curling into a shaking, white-knuckled fist.

"Sam. This isn't helping." Jimmy growled in a voice that sounded so similar in pitch to Castiel's that for a brief, glimmering moment Sam thought the angel had returned. Jimmy shut the laptop with a glare forcing Sam to jerk his hands back or risk them getting crushed.

"James!" The youngest Winchester hissed in tired annoyance.

Christ. What kind of person lost not only their big brother, but their big brother's angel as well?

Not to mention the Impala was MIA, too. If Dean did manage to come back, he was going to flay Sam alive. Hell, after all the blood, sweat, and tears Dean had put into rebuilding her time and again Bobby might do it just on principle. She was practically family.

"It's Jimmy." Jimmy stated absently while nimbly maneuvering to put his smaller body between Sam and the Internet. "What do you think you're going to do? Google 'angel abductions' and hope that something will _magically_ pop up? No. If Zachariah has even a drop of the creativity he claims to have he'll be watching for something like that."

"How do you even know Zachariah? I thought you couldn't remember anything while possessed." Sam said with veiled suspicion.

"Bits and pieces. And trust me, I remember exploding. And I remember who did it," Fear shone out of his eyes, and not for the first time Sam noticed how much dimmer they were. Castiel's had been blue, bright blue, and Jimmy's... weren't. Jaded, and at times so dark they were very nearly black. "And I know that if Raphael gets his way, Amelia and Claire die. I know they'll go to heaven but... "

Deep breath. Castiel never talked about things like this. Dean never talked about things like this. Neither did Bobby, or John, or anyone he knew.

Jimmy was so very human, and Sam was grateful that he wasn't alone in his panic. _Hostages._

"We'll stop it."

Jimmy grunted. "Should probably avoid Mormons, though that's standard procedure back home."

"You have a plan?" Sam asked, surprised and curious. He'd picked the guy up from a hospital just yesterday under the name of N. Schon -He couldn't believe it at first. He leaves Dean alone for two weeks and the man goes and makes fake ID's for the angel? _ What the hell?_- and didn't expect much.

"Call Bobby." Jimmy leaned backwards, butt on the table and a foot balanced on the back of a chair. In that moment, for all the physical resemblance Sam knew he would never confuse the two men. "Isn't that what you normally do?"

Sam swallowed. "I can't. He's already done enough for us-"

"And if we lose, _everyone_ loses. Call. Bobby." Jimmy closed his eyes, his whole body trembling. He breathed out, eyes tight, wearing the face of a man ready to face death head on. "Bits and pieces. I remember. There's a spell, I don't know what it is, but Castiel used it to call Raphael back to his vessel."

"So we can use you to contact Cas!" A lead. An actual, solid lead...

Jimmy nodded, and it occurred to Sam just how much he was asking of the man. He had a family, a wife and daughter, and he was giving it all up.

Sam used to hate John for how the man had raised them. He had blamed the man for a lot of things. Looking at Jimmy, now, Sam could easily see the man packing a tiny blonde baby into the family car and running. Swearing vengeance.

Jimmy held out his hand. "Phone."

* * *

><p>Bobby, despite the loss of his legs, was still one of the most active members in the hunting community. He had a reputation for the esoteric, of figuring out how to kill the formerly-thought-to-be-extinct man eater of the week, and if he didn't know how he could find out. Quickly.<p>

As it was, Bobby was busy staring suspiciously at the apple pie on his counter, silver knife in hand. The crust was a perfect, a flaky golden color that Karen used to make. Hell, the pie itself with the slightest dusting of cinnamon smelled_ exactly_ like the kind his wife used to make. Looking at the pastry made his throat clench and his heart ache, because she was _dead_ and her ashes scattered around the yard for the _second_ time. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her soft, off-key humming.

He still had the last pie she made wrapped and buried deep in the freezer.

That was the thing with monsters. Very, very few people go out wanting to be a vampire, werewolf, zombie, or demon, but it happens and nature had a hell of a lot more sway than nurture when it came to what one wanted to eat.

But none of the lore he had studied over the past decade or so prepared him for the damn thing sitting oh-so-innocently on his counter, or the momma-weird out sunning itself in his yard. The phone rang as a welcome distraction, and he wheeled on over to it. "Singer."

"Bobby!" The other man spoke with way too much emotion to be Castiel, and the old hunter hazarded a guess even though he had never met the man.

"Jimmy?"

"Yes! Listen. Dean and Castiel are missing." There was a mutter, the sound that Bobby assumed was Jimmy batting away at another's hands, and he could already feel the head ache coming on. "So is the Impala, even though Sam doesn't want you to know that."

Bobby rolled the knife handle between his fingers and sighed. "The _Impala_ is gone? Shit. Could have used it to track Dean. Whoever took him knows what they're doing."

"Don't forget Castiel."

"Well, was he jacked out of your body like last time, or was he killed?" Bobby asked while pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder to free up his hands, so he could roll into the den. The problem with having an actual live angel to answer any questions about angels, was that when it went missing you were screwed, but Cas had gone missing before, had gotten brainwashed before, and Bobby had been preparing for Worst-Case-Senario's ever since he first saw black eyes staring out at him from his wife's face.

"If he was killed, _I_ wouldn't be here. He's just... gone."

"But how?"

Jimmy sighed. "I don't remember! I'm not all that aware when Cas is in the driver's seat, okay? I think... he was in shock. I can remember him feeling that. It actually woke me up for a second. Listen, there's a spell-"

"Got it. Say's here once a vessel is occupied there's a connection between angel and host that stays open even if the angel leaves. Kinda like an AFK on IM, I think."

"...what?"

Sam's voice, a dry chuckle, echoed over the line. "_Oh, God. I just got this image of the Apocalypse as the worlds biggest, deadliest MMORPG."_

"Quit using acronyms I don't understand!"

_"Seriously?"_

"Hey, I'm from small town Illinois. Give me a break. We were still using a modem last I was conscious."

"Hey!" Bobby yelled into the phone, shifting in his seat with the urge to stand. They just were like Sam and Dean, minus ten years of maturity. "Listen, I'm up to my eyeballs in weird-ass omens. How long have they been missing?"

"About five days." Sam answered as he took the phone from Jimmy, and Bobby heard a "_Don't kick me you emo vampire!_" in the background.

"Perfect. Just perfect." Bobby leaned over to glance through to the door to the pie that hadn't moved. "Five days ago a wildfire in California died overnight."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, but only if you can explain how everything that was burning suddenly became _covered in ice_ instead. Then there's the psychics that dropped whatever they were doing two days ago, all over the damn country, and simultaneously broke out into the renditions of the Seven Seas of Rhye. In France there's a private plane that had to make an emergency landing because, and this is a translation mind you, they 'Had to avoid the big fucking muscle car in the sky'. Both of the pilots are having their licenses suspended. Oh, and then there's the huge ass tree that's growing out of the '64 I had in back." Bobby growled darkly.

"Wait, a tree? A big tree? Maybe... maybe Cas Fell like Anna did and it has his Grace..."

"Not unless his Grace is freaking pie flavored. It's a _pie_ tree, Sam. Has these big-ass nuts you crack open to find crust inside. I've counted apple, blueberry, and peach so far. Stab the trunk with silver and it bleeds honey, anything less and it just bounces off the bark. If I didn't know better I'd think that Trickster-Angel of yours decided to get drunk and went a little miracle-happy."

"Yeah," Bobby could practically see Sam's nostrils flaring. "That doesn't sound quite like him..." As the boy trailed off thoughtfully, Bobby gave a mental groan. "...actually, it sounds like something Dean would do. If he, you know, could. Pie trees, anyway. Not sure about the rest."

_"I'd make burger trees. And they would bleed ketchup. With fries for leaves._"

"Your obsession almost got us killed by Famine." Sam's voice cut across the phone, even with his hand to muffle the speaker.

"_Hey, you try eating nothing for a year and lets see how you feel about food, Mr. Oh-Salad-How-I-Love-You. Lettuce has no flavor. Maybe if you ate real food once in a while you wouldn't have those creepy vampire tendencies._"

"CHILDREN!" Bobby hollered, and there was blessed silence. He would have to edit his earlier thought. Sam and Jimmy were like Sam and Dean minus twenty years maturity and if this kept up he was going to have to turn them both over his knee, grown men or no. "You're going to stop acting like little girls, get in whatever car you stole, and get your asses down here. In case either of you forgot, there's a damn good chance Jimmy doesn't have Enochian graffiti on his ribs. Cas probably didn't need it."

"...Sorry Bobby. We'll be there by morning."

* * *

><p>Ben Braeden was biking home when he saw the big, black, beauty of car out in front of his house. He immediately reversed the pedals to break, and let out a soft, awed breath as his hands fluttered over her chassis like hesitant butterflies. He knew this girl. She was burned into his memory, deep, where monsters were flambéed and immortal father-figures lurked with righteous indignation.<p>

Quickly, he headed for the door, glanced around the street to see if anyone was watching, before jiggling the handle. Ben wasn't a latch-key kid for nothing, though, and entered the house with hesitation because you never really_ knew_ what it was until you did. Not that he ever told his mom, but sometimes he woke at night, sweating, with the image of not-Ben leaving him locked in a cage dancing before his eyes. "Dean?"

Everything was still. Quiet. Metal warmed by prolonged contact with his skin dropped into his hand, and Ben stepped lightly around the house. His mother would kill him if she knew he had the knife, if she knew he even talked to Harry behind the Stop-and-Go, but better safe than sorry, right? It wasn't paranoia. It was _precaution_.

Ben entered the hallway, wincing as the wood floor squeaked against his sneakers, and did _not_ scream as body emerged from the kitchen, head tilted curiously. "Hello, Ben."

Ben whirled, knife hand close to his body and free hand out, lips pressing together. It looked like Dean, and had Dean's ride, but it was so obviously _not _Dean. "Who are you? Why are you in my house? How did you get inside?" Then he noticed the wet drops hitting the wood flooring, and frowned. "Are you _bleeding_?"

Maybe it had eaten Dean, and assumed his form. Ben took a step back, ready and willing to run for the window if need be. The flower garden would make an excellent break for his fall even with the rose bush.

Eyes brighter than Ben remembered blinked, then glanced at the injured arm. "Only temporarily. I will have to make a fresh incision soon enough."

"You aren't Dean." But he slid the knife back up his sleeve, into the home made holster he'd asked Alice to make for him during homeroom. The girl was adorable, and talented... boy was she talented.

"No. I am Castiel... but Dean is here. With me."

"So... you're like a body-snatcher?"

Castiel frowned. "I'm... not entirely sure I understand that reference. But no. I am an Angel of the Lord." The lights flickered, Ben's breath froze in his throat, and honest-to-God wings seemed to briefly flutter into existence behind the man. Massive wings, raptor wings, wings too big to fit in such a small human body joined the collection of images Ben didn't talk about, but would stay with him forever.

"Uh-huh." Ben coughed as he brushed past the guy wearing Dean's appearance. Maybe he was a fairy casting a... what did the book call it? Veil? Whatever. He headed for the paper towels and froze when his eyes finally took in the state of his mother's kitchen. Blood. The windows looked like some kind of demented serial killer had taken up finger painting on all the windows. Even the tiny useless squares over the stove top. "Oh. My. God. Mom's going to kill you!" He blinked. "She's going to think I let you inside! She's going to kill me!"

"No, she won't." The so-called angel blinked. "She might ground you, though I think it unlikely. This is protection. Once I have finished applying it to the rest of the house, I will be able to sink it into the foundations. It will then be invisible."

Ben hesitated. On the one hand, there was a supernatural being of unconfirmed origins in his house making a, literally, bloody mess. On the other hand, the guy hadn't done anything overtly threatening, and actually claimed the finger painting was protection. The bit of Ben that was hard-core maleness grinned.

There was an aspect to this that was so _damn_ cool, if strangely terrifying. At least when Ben checked Castiel's reflection against the back of a CD he didn't look like a creepy leech thing. Or have glowing eyes.

"So, how long will this take?"

"An hour at the most." Dean's doppleganger went over to the backdoor and began drawing symbols against the glass panes. "It is complicated spell work. If I make it too weak, it may not give enough protection should you require it. If I make it too strong, it may draw the attention of forces best left alone. Curiosity has killed more than cats."

Ben pretended he understood it, and he sort of did. Despite knowing he was going to get them on the 25th, Ben didn't stop looking for where mom hid his Christmas presents every year. "Okay. I'll make some Mac-and-Cheese. You want a root beer?"

Pressing the play button, the comforting sounds of Aerosmith filled the house, and Ben watched interestedly as Castiel went back to his self-mutilation.

His life was so weird.

"So." Ben hedged. "Since you're obviously busy, do you think I could, maybe, take the Impala for a drive?"

"No."

Damn.

* * *

><p>Lisa juggled the groceries as she bumped the backdoor closed with her hip. "Ben, honey, could you-"<p>

She almost dropped the bag with the eggs, but managed to shove it onto a counter while going for the knife drawer at the same time. Dean was sitting at the table holding Ben's DS, but his eyes were wrong and his body was too formal and stiff, and Ben was sitting by his side pointing out things on the screen. The two boys looked up, and there was a flair of... something... in those bright _blue_ eyes.

_What did Dean do?_

"Hi, mom!" Ben grinned. "This is Castiel. He says he's an angel. I think he's a pod-person. But he said he's not here to kidnap anyone or suck out their body fluids, so it's okay."

The creature's expression seemed to soften with amusement, lips twitching into a smile, and Lisa let out a shaky breath.

"Hello, Lisa." It was deeper than she remembered. Rougher. But under the _other_ was the same thing that had caused her to shiver with anticipation all those years ago when a handsome bit of Trouble handed her a drink and a smile.


End file.
